Secrets Unraveled
by Psycho-Em022
Summary: Nothing could go more wrong for Narelle Westbrook. James is gone, a ghost shows up from her past, and the King has zeroed in on her whereabouts. Promises turn into dust, and betrayals seem to be around every corner. She must go and recover what she's lost in order to survive the monarchy in which she serves. Set before and during DMC. JamesxOC. Sequel to Secrets to Discover.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys. I seem to have gotten caught up in the momentum of finally finishing the first story for Narelle. Needless to say, I'm glad I finally finished it, but I realize that it's already going to need a major overhaul. I've definitely learned a few things while reading other people's works. I'm glad to say that I feel great about publishing this as a way to test the waters with an improved style. Please let me know in PM's or in reviews of your opinions, I'll be glad to read constructive criticisms and feedback! Thank you! :D**

 **London**

He had walked these halls before; almost every day, in fact. The grandeur of the palace had all of its charm about it still, with the statues, paintings of kings and queens long passed, treasures from distant lands, and the richly colored tapestries that colored the history of the relations of his beloved country and the friendships and alliances of others. Sometimes he would admire the marble columns. Were they also a gift? Was it bought and paid for on the blood of enslaved people forced to make these columns, then presented as a peaceful offering on the credit of the giver's rule, or was it more along the lines of the powerful family that resided here that conjured these massive slabs of rock that showed anyone else from society the capability of not only the family, but the vast resources at their disposal? He never asked, therefore he never knew. Something so frivolous of such details would be ignored immediately, no one would possibly ever answer his endless questions of the building itself. He remembered the first time he walked these halls, his eyes full of silent wonder and awe of the history, colors, and overall regality of the palace.

He had felt out of place. He shouldn't have been there, at least his mind screamed it to him those many months ago. The walls seemed to echo his thoughts as he strolled them with the troupe of men he would follow. His timidness would eventually grow into determination, his meek silence to outspoken deals and speeches, and his shyness to confidence as he not only grew older, but as he rose higher in stature. He came from a respectable family, sure. Father was a businessman, and mother was well respected and liked among the people. Their children were brought up well, even his sister received an education, something considered a privilege to most of the women in London. Father had other intentions with his only son. Sure, he was educated, but he was always told he was destined for something higher than their current standing in society.

Now, the King trusted him. Something he never thought would ever happen, let alone the King even just talking to him, or looking in his general direction. The monarch hung on almost every word of advice, eager to hear what the man had to say. He didn't believe he had the charismatic virtues that King George boasted about, but he seemed to find the right words at the right time. So much so, that he was invited to almost every meeting that involved international dignitaries. He made an impression on the guests, as well. They were more open to trade and peaceful negotiations when he was present. Unlike the King, he was patient. Not only was he willing to hear the other side, he was always the one to concede with requests from England. Withdrawal of troops? Done. Increase of wheat export? Check. He was fair when it came to trade. What the King saw as a lack of ambition, he saw as a more diplomatic approach to international trade and attitude. The King sought to dominate, but he sought to be equals.

However, he felt empty; like a shell of who he once was.

She was gone.

As an act of appreciation, the King had set him up to be married. Who could refuse such an offer? He would be lying to himself if he said he wasn't excited to learn of his bride. Anyone worthy of the King's approval would jump at the chance, and he would be a fool not to. He met her for the first time in public and was struck by her beauty. He had seen her after, many times in fact, in Court. He was curious about her, studying her features, expressions, and her true emotions in her eyes. She rarely spoke in front of Court, but her words carried a weight to all except the King. She would leave after her speeches and the men would almost always agree with her, but the King would cut them down. He always wondered why the King even invited her, unless she was there solely for him to belittle her after she left? The man pitied her. He wondered if she knew what happened behind these closed doors after her exit.

The first time he witnessed the King's tauntings after the woman left, it changed him. He silently vowed to cast away his silence and shyness. How was he to stand up for her if he barely talked? He was enamored with her, though he would never say so. She spoke with a passion that marked his drive of ambition. He gave her the credit, even if he didn't outright tell her. She sparked the confidence within him. He wanted to thank her but didn't know how; he wouldn't even begin to know where she went after her speech. He didn't even know her name, but he was determined to find out.

The King wanted him to marry her. It was if his wishes had come true. He was beside himself with silent happiness that all his questions were going to be answered.

The first time they met as a couple, however, didn't go quite as planned.

She was beautiful, he would never tell her otherwise. Seeing her up close rendered him almost speechless. He wanted to treat her like a queen, regardless of where she comes from. When she told him she was the daughter of the late King John, he was astonished. Realizing that his only daughter still lives was such a shock, the man didn't believe her at first when she told him. She asked that he study the family portrait a while longer, and to come back when he believed her. She had turned on her heel and walked away from him, leaving him in shock and slight embarrassment. Not because of her behavior, but because he should have known about her family ties. He had seen the portrait of John a great many times, and he read everything there was to know about not only his life, but his death.

When King George came into power, he gave an emotional speech about how his predecessor had died unexpectedly, and in his memory, George would take care of his only daughter. Everything else would be preserved. A statement that was an outright lie. When he walked through the threshold of the palace, he ordered that only his portrait was to remain on the wall, everything else in his name was to be locked away or burned, including his very alive niece. She had been spared the stake but was locked away in her room until he saw fit to either bring her out to Court. Until then, she was a nuisance to him, even when she wasn't visible to him. He felt he had to get rid of her somehow. Marrying her off to someone lower than what she deserved seemed like the right idea. He would never have to see her again, and he would live comfortably with his own two daughters while his niece would live in misery as he always intended for her.

During their engagement, the man felt he truly loved her. Everything she ever wanted, he would do his best to procure for her. She never asked of anything out of his reach. He admired that it seemed that she enjoyed the simpler things; she didn't care for the elegance of food served in golden cloches or eating with the finest silver. She just enjoyed being outside in the sun. He felt that he was her ticket to going outside, but he didn't mind. He actually liked that they sometimes didn't speak when they went about the town. He enjoyed her company, whether they talked or not.

There was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind, however. He felt that she resented him. She never said it directly, but she was always at least annoyed with him. He never meant any ill towards her, but he was frustrated that he not only didn't know what was wrong, but she wouldn't talk to him about it. In his mind, he would plead with her to just say something, so he could fix it for her, and that she would see his worth. He never did, however. Every time he came close to asking her what was bothering her so much, a royal guard would approach and demand the return of her under the King's order. It bothered him that he let her go. It bothered him that the King had an unusually tight hold over her. The whole situation seemed wrong.

Of course, that was then.

Now, she is gone. Normally, after a fairly long day's work, he would ask a guard to retrieve her, so he could spend time with her in one of the parlors. Now, he wandered the halls alone, unsure of where everything went wrong. Had she finally had enough of him, and ordered the guard to lie about her leaving, or was she actually gone?

He had a nagging feeling in the back of his mind as he stared into the eyes of her portrait on the wall. He was being watched. Slowly, he turned his head and locked eyes with one of the staff. She crossed the length of the hall cautiously, and approached him, fear in her eyes. She was his height, her hair hidden in a cowl, her dress a plain brown with a white apron tied about her waist.

"Sir," she whispered with an accent he couldn't place. "You are the princess's fiancé, yes?"

He nodded slowly, caution mixed with concern dominating his features.

"Come," she said, not waiting for an answer. "I wish to show you something." She gestured for him to follow, then turned on her heel and briskly walked away.

"What is it you wish to show me?" he asked, trying to keep up with her.

She only turned her head to the side so he could hear her.

"The truth."

It was all she said, but he knew he should trust her. He was confused with her words. What truth could he possibly not know about her? Had she been hiding from him this whole time? Had she taken to another without his knowledge? He hoped not.

The two twisted through the halls of the palace. Soon they were crossing into halls he had never been down. He would be the first to admit there were some places of the palace he never explored. Some part was fear of crossing into rooms he shouldn't be in, others were the air some halls gave off, as if warning him to turn around.

They started up a narrow staircase. There was enough room for maybe two people if the second person was flat against the wall. There wasn't enough room for wall-mounted candles, and the sparse spacing of windows made the climb dark, therefore difficult. He could just make out the maid in front of her, but still had a hand brushing the wall in case the stairs spiraled. He almost ran into her before he realized she stopped.

"Please sir," she whispered as he heard jingling of keys. "This will be a bit of a shock."

He heard the familiar sound of the key in a door, and in a moment, he was relieved to see light when it opened. The relief was then turned to genuine appalment once he finally saw what was in the room.

The wardrobe, small desk, vanity and anything that warranted dusting or cleaning was caked in dust. The floor had most likely not been washed in months. The bed, though clean itself, was in the worst environment of all. Long dried blood splattered on the walls, and the floor surrounding it. He could see a small trail of it leading from the door to the bed. He slowly entered the room, only to stand in the center of what he considered a hovel.

"Why are we here?" he asked.

The maid entered the room, went to the desk, and picked up a book. She handed it to him.

"I cannot read English," she said lowly, "but I was told from a maid before me that all of your answers are in here."

Confusion etched into his expression, he took it from her. He opened it, and his eyes darted back up to hers.

"This is hers?" he asked.

She nodded. "She said she had no reason to hide it. If I may say, sir, she may have left this for you."

"Wouldn't anyone be able to take it?"

"No one ever saw her up here. No one else knows this room exists except for His Majesty and his daughters, but they would never come up here now that she's gone."

"Where did she go?"

"I cannot say, sir. I don't know where she went."

They heard a noise below. The maid's eyes grew wide.

"Hide the book on your person, sir," she whispered. "We must leave!"

He hid her book in his coat, and followed her back through the door and down the stairs. During the journey back through the palace, she would hide near corners of a turn in the hall and would peek around to make sure no one was in sight. The noises grew louder, then quieter as their owners went down different passages.

They eventually made it all the way back to the grand foyer of the palace, just as a patrol of guards exited. He turned to thank her, but she was gone. Confusion of her disappearance was replaced by determination to solving the mystery of his fiancé. He turned to leave the palace to return to his home, when a voice stopped him.

"There you are, boy," a voice yelled from behind him.

He turned back. The lord he once served under approached him.

"I'm sorry, sir," was his reply. "I was momentarily lost."

"No matter. Come. The King requests your presence."

Knowing there was no refusing him, he followed. He had walked this particular route before and was fairly used to it. When he stood before the King, he gave a deep bow.

"Your Majesty," he said stoically.

King George, sitting upon his throne, eyed the man intently. The King's dark eyes locked with the man's hazel ones for a long moment before he spoke.

"It's come to my attention," the King started, "that someone of mutual interest has been seen lately."

"Mutual interest?" the man asked.

"You know of whom I speak," the King said flippantly. "Your fiancé."

The man remained stoic, his guard staying up as the monarch surveyed his features for any kind of reaction.

"You have news, Your Majesty?"

"It seems she has left my generous hospitality of the homeland and has been seen in the colony of Port Royal, dear boy. Which makes my proposition much more beneficial to you."

"Oh?"

"I want you to go get her. Bring her back to London so you can marry her. Think of it as a man running to go save her betrothed and winning her undying love."

Sarcastic undertones dripped from his words, which were not unnoticed by the man before him.

"If you don't, I can have this all taken care of. You will be accompanied by a friend of mine."

With two fingers, he gestured to his guards to open the doors behind the man. The doors slowly swung open, and a single man crossed the threshold. He approached the throne, and bowed his head. The man took in the newcomer's features. His eyes were cold, a stony brown. His face was set, some wrinkles etched into his face, and a scar ran down the side of his head near his hairline from his right temple straight down to his jawline. He wore no wig, but his brown hair was tied behind his neck under a tricorn hat. He was taller than him, most likely by about five inches.

"This is Mercer," the King declared. "He's the best assassin I have to offer."

"Assassin, your Majesty?" the man asked incredulously. "Surely no such measures are needed?"

"Here's my offer, boy. You convince her to come back and marry you so you can live happily ever after with her out of my sight, or I'll have Mercer here dispose of her. I see it as a friendly competition."

"When is the next ship due to sail?"

"Tomorrow. Pack your things. You're going to be there for a while anyway. I'm making you the lead of the East India Trading Company, Lord Beckett. I hope you find her, boy. I hear the waters are perilous there and are no place for a lady such as Narelle to live in such fear. Now go. I have other matters to attend to."

 **Port Royal**

Dawn was only a few minutes away when Narelle Westbrook sleepily made her way inside Fort Charles. The air was crisp, although it wouldn't last. The sun would warm the town on the island before long, and the sweltering heat would soon set in. The stone walls of Fort Charles provided some cooler temperatures towards the center, but most of the time it didn't help. The Caribbean sun was relentless, especially within the last week. Dress coats were often abandoned at midday, left to hang on hooks under hats, or draped around the back of chairs. During the extreme heat, the order of wigs was overlooked for troops and officers' safety.

Narelle was normally not the type of officer to show up so tired. Usually, she was awake, alert, and ready to start her shift for the day. If not for Sophie, her maid, she would have likely slept the day away, or shown up late with perhaps half her uniform on.

Port Royal was attacked the previous night. It was the third time in two months. It almost seemed that as soon as repairs to the island port were complete, they would fall under attack again. The first two were disorganized bands of pirates. Although they inflicted a lot of damage, the lack of communication ultimately led to their demise. Both crews were swiftly captured, imprisoned, hung, and their ships were scrapped to use as repair material for the home fleet and any necessary buildings in the port. Most ships with at least a moderately intelligent captain would turn sail and leave at the sound of warning cannon fire. Narelle had concluded that they were either desperate or completely stupid.

The group last night was led by Jack Sparrow. When she figured it out in the midst of a brief skirmish and mass confusion, Narelle slowly came to terms as she knew James Norrington was going to go after him. He made the promise to Governor Swann about four months ago, and she knew he wasn't the kind of man to go back on his word. It bothered her, but she knew she wouldn't be able to dissuade him.

She shuffled down the hallway inside the fort, fumbling around her pockets for the key to her office. Her fingers brushed the familiar cold metal and breathed a sigh of relief that she actually remembered to bring her key. The only copy was held by James, and she made the embarrassing walk to his office more often than not for him to let her into her own office. She slid the key into the hole, and was about to turn it, when the door swung open slightly already. She shrugged off the fatigue and was now alert; she opened it the rest of the way slowly, not sure what to expect.

Her ice blue eyes swept the room quickly for any sign of an intruder. She tiptoed inside, her hand gripping the hilt of her sword. She was rarely paranoid, but the door being already unlocked for her tripped a red flag in her mind. When her eyes settled on her desk, however, she dropped her hand, and smiled.

A note was lying on the surface next to a steaming cup of black tea. When she approached her desk, she recognized the penmanship. To her surprise, the paper only had two short sentences.

 _A little pick me up…_

 _Come find me in my office._

She took a sip and sighed as she felt the tea warm her soul. She already felt more invigorated to take on the day. Her eyes closed for a moment, letting the hot liquid clear her mind. She felt the stress melt away, truly feeling serene, if only for a moment. It took her a surprising amount of willpower to set the cup onto the saucer and leave her office. Four doors further down the hall was the familiar door to James's office. She knocked softly.

"Enter" came his voice, muffled slightly from the door.

She opened the door and smiled at the sight. Already busy working, James's head was angled towards the papers he was writing on. He didn't see her come in, and simply kept writing.

"Already hard at work, I see," she said, amused.

She saw him hesitate and smile at his work. He didn't look up immediately, instead dipping his pen in the ink.

"Please allow me to finish this sentence, my dear. I promise to be with you in just a moment."

Instead of acknowledging him, she sat in one of the chairs opposite him. Her eyes roamed the space around her and rested on the bookshelf over his right shoulder. Adorned with books, charts, and various relics recovered from voyages, she always wondered about how he came to acquire the trinkets. Were they from mysterious adventures he never told her about? Were they something worse, like trophies from significantly notorious pirates? Were they simply gifts to him after saving civilians from an untimely demise? She never knew. She never asked, mainly due to her respect for him. It never dulled her curiosity, however.

With a final scratching of his elegant signature, he returned his pen to the ink bottle. James laid the piece of paper on top of a small pile and focused his attention on her. He met her eyes for a moment, a genuine smile on his face only briefly before his expression turned more stoic.

"I think you know what my plan is," he said.

"You did make a promise," she replied with a sigh. "I just wish…" she trailed off.

"I know. I wish we had more time together as well."

"Take me with you, then."

He smirked. "This will hopefully be quick," he said. "I need you here to command the fort while I'm gone."

Her expression fell slightly, but she nodded. She knew he was right; if neither he nor Narelle were here to keep the fort running, she was sure it would descend into chaos. The cleanup from the adventure chasing Sparrow the first time was horrendous. Many troopers left behind thought it was fun to not report for duty, instead partying and wreaking local havoc on the poor town. The disappointment from James upon return was nothing to the wrath that Narelle wrought upon her subordinates. As punishment, everyone was demoted, uniforms were taken from them except for their hats. In her eyes, every man had to earn their uniform back. It caused a spectacle when columns of troops marched back in nothing but undergarments and their hats. James at first was against the initial moves on her part, but eventually came around after seeing a truly respectable and professional detachment of troops under her command. She pushed them to train harder and longer, and the results were astounding. He had never seen the fort run so smoothly after finding their own purposes. He was proud of them before, sure, but his feeling of pride certainly swelled.

Her wrath was not just on the enlisted, however. She re-trained the officers also. While no man, officer nor enlisted, were able to defeat her in sword sparring still, she certainly was impressed with the renewed vigor and determination they gave.

Snapping out of her reminiscing, she nodded again. "I really don't want to re-train everyone again," she said with a smirk.

James chuckled. "But look at the results!" he replied jovially. "I'm tempted to take you with me just to make them even better!"

Smiling, she rolled her eyes and shook her head. She rose from her chair. James followed suit, came around her desk, and pulled her into his arms. Due to his height advantage over her, he gently rested his chin on the top of her head.

"I promise to be back quickly," he said over her.

"I know you will," she replied. "I'll send a ship after you if you take too long, however."

"I have no doubt." He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the time with her.

"When do you set sail?" she asked.

"My ship is ready," came his reply. "I just wanted to make sure everything is squared away. I believe you are set up nicely as far as reports and paperwork, but I wanted to see you one more time before I disembark."

"I'm glad I came by, then."

He pulled back only to lightly touch her cheek with his thumb. She reached up to gently pull him closer to her, and she kissed him.

She pulled back after a moment.

"You're in charge, Captain," he said softly.

"Only until your valiant return, Commodore," she replied with a smirk. "Now go, dear. Sparrow isn't going to catch himself."

 **Thank you for making it this far, at least. Again, please let me know what you think. I'm glad you took the time to read this. :D**


	2. Chapter 2

**So, I see that someone favorited this story. Yay! Thank you! I was honestly thinking of just leaving this hang out in limbo for a while, but you've inspired me to at least try to get some more of this written. I'm not sure if this makes a difference, but this fic is the sequel to Secrets to Discover. Also, I did happen to change my Pen-name. Now that it coincides with my Twitter, Xbox gamertag, and most of everything else, I'm a little easier to find (hopefully). It might be why people aren't really reviewing, or maybe cause there's less traffic on the site lately. Not sure, but whatever. Here you are, readers! Enjoy!**

 **Atlantic Ocean, 3 Weeks Later**

Cutler Beckett sighed. The presence of this Mercer man troubled him, and Cutler had yet to devise a plan to try to win the assassin over to working for him. Cutler was certainly not going to let this man kill Narelle but having him as an asset or ally would really be helpful. He knew he needed another set of eyes (or another sword, for that matter), and this Mercer seemed to be it. Cutler had managed to give the man an offer to consider working for him instead. When Mercer at first refused, he explained that no one would be the wiser, and the only other person that knew of his mission was the King. He also pointed out that he'd have nothing to do until Cutler gave up on her (which he never would), and it would only make sense to at least have a job while he was in Port Royal. The offer sent the elder man thinking, and Cutler left him to ponder his options.

He was grateful that he got his own quarters for the voyage. Sailing with others sharing his cabin would more than likely have frayed his nerves. It allowed him to pace while he thought. While frowned upon in public, pacing brought him some form of peace. He also sometimes vocalized his thoughts. He was really careful when he did, however. No need for anyone passing by to not only hear his potential plan, but to think that he was insane. His tricorn hat lay forlorn on the bed as he sat at the desk. The book he grabbed from the palace lied on the wooden surface open before him. If seeing the room where he picked it up had changed his perspective of her, it was nothing compared to the words that were written on its pages.

Cutler waited until the ship was well underway on its voyage before he felt he was brave enough to not only shove off the layer of dust on the cover, but to start reading it. Learning it was her own accounts, he was surprised as to how detailed her entries were. He pushed through the days when the late King John passed and her side of when the current king came into power. As he pressed on reading, it became clear that King George was absolutely horrendous to her, and he could only bear reading fewer and fewer passages as he continued. He should stop reading, throw it into the corner where he'd never see it again, and pretend he saw nothing. The disgust of what was done to her turned to sadness, which was quickly replaced by anger. Why, of all people, did she have to suffer? How could the King do such a thing to his own family member? The question he asked himself the most, however, almost broke his heart every time he asked it.

Why didn't she tell him? Moreover, why didn't she trust him enough to tell him?

He sincerely hoped she was alive. Everything in his mind screamed for him to apologize to her, for not seeing the truth at first, and for not seeming trustworthy to her. At least try and make everything right. He didn't care if she didn't ever want to set foot in London again, or if she never wanted to see anyone related to the palace for as long as she lived.

He sighed again. His eyes fell to the open book before him. With a slightly trembling hand, he pulled it closer to him, and off the edge slightly so the bottom rested at an angle against his knee while still being propped against the desk. Her penmanship style changed many times the more entries he read. Some were elegantly scripted, which he had theorized were times where she knew how to pick her words and had plenty of time to write them. Others seemed rushed, more untidy, or perhaps written with a shaking hand? As much as he liked the elegance of the other side of her, he could really feel the emotion with the untidiness of the entries, much like the one before him. It was like the emotion of what she had written (or sometimes, _hadn't_ ) would seep under his skin and into his soul. There had been a couple times where he'd thrown the book across the room out of anger, or (and he had hoped no one ever saw him at this point) a lone tear as he read.

As much as he wanted to start reading the next entry, a knock on his door pulled him away. He shut the book quickly and slid it away. Keeping his expression neutral, he cleared his throat before speaking.

"Enter," he called.

He was surprised to see Mercer come through the door. Cutler folded his hands after gesturing for the older man to sit across from him and rested them on his desk.

"Mercer," he said. "I'll admit, I wasn't expecting to see you."

Mercer looked towards the door hesitantly. "Were you expecting someone else, sir?" he said slowly.

"Not at all, I was just finishing some work. What's on your mind?"

Mercer leaned back slightly in his chair, trying to look comfortable. His eyes flicked around the room, as if surveying any potential dangers or possible escape routes besides the door. Part of Cutler wondered if he was making sure no one else was in the room with them, or if the old man was simply paranoid. When Mercer's eyes settled back to his, Cutler raised an eyebrow.

"I'd like to take you up on that offer, Lord Beckett," Mercer replied. "The more I thought about this job, sir, the guiltier I felt. This lady had done nothing wrong."

"I'm glad you see it that way," Cutler said softly. He sighed, relieved. "Honestly, I never thought you were going to agree to what I had proposed."

"She's done nothing wrong, sir. I'd rather serve someone who would give me a steadier place of employment than someone who will pay great sums only when someone needs killing."

"Very fair, Mr. Mercer. I hope you don't mind travelling by sea, then. I will need someone to help solidify the surrounding ports under the East India Trading Company's authority."

"Whatever you need, sir. I'm yours to command."

Reflexively, Cutler smirked.

"We're roughly halfway to Port Royal," he said. "We'll need a plan by then."

 **Port Royal**

Narelle woke with a start, realizing a hand had been gently shaking her shoulder. She gasped as her head sprang up. Her crossed arms had fallen numb from supporting her head, the blood rushing back to her limbs caused them to immediately tingle. The paperwork under her arms were unfinished, the ink most likely smeared from being unable to dry. She groaned as she looked at her coat sleeve that was now tattooed with ink in the reflection of her handwriting.

"Captain?" came Theodore Groves's voice. His hand still rested on her shoulder.

She didn't trust her voice, so she grunted in response.

"You really should consider going home, m'lady," he continued. "It's almost dusk."

She sighed. "Any news yet?" she asked as she rubbed an eye.

"Nothing."

"Keep listening for anything. I don't care if they're rumors. I need to finish this report."

"Narelle."

Her eyes glanced up to Theodore's. "I'll be fine," she said, trying to sound reassuring. "I'm just going to finish this report, and then I'm going home." She yawned, her body betraying her intentions.

Theodore chuckled a little.

"If you're sure," he replied, removing his hand from her. "Is there anything I can help with?"

She shook her head, her mind trying to re-focus on the report. The words that had stained her sleeve were still visible, mainly. She dipped her pen back in the ink to rewrite over the previous attempt. She then froze after the first few words.

"Actually, yes," she said suddenly. She never looked up to him. "If you could get Captain Ward in here, that'd be fantastic."

"Captain Ward?" Theodore asked. "The merchant trader?"

"Yes. It's important. Tell him it's me personally that's asking, and not the Royal Navy."

Theodore looked confused for a moment, but shook it away, nodded to her, and left her office.

She continued writing. _I really shouldn't,_ she thought, _but it'll make me feel better if I send a ship after James. I'd rather be… protective, than find out something went wrong weeks later._

Though it had only been a few weeks, three precisely, since James left to pursue Sparrow. Narelle had been in charge of Fort Charles since then, and she honestly had no idea how he had put up with the constant stress of keeping this place running. Paperwork seemed to come out of the walls and piled themselves on her desk. She didn't mind signing requests or making replies to queries, but she absolutely didn't like writing reports for the Governor. She preferred to just tell him, but Governor Swann liked to have a paper copy for future reference. As much as she agreed with his logic, she still didn't like it.

She finished and signed her work about an hour later. She read and re-read the report, seemingly satisfied. She kept the numerous pieces of paper together and set them in the self-designated spot for outgoing documents. A knock on her door pulled her out of her thoughts. Without waiting to hear her acknowledge the guest, the door opened. Narelle smiled when she saw Captain Ward with Theodore.

"Captain," Groves said, nodding. "Captain Ward, as requested."

"Thank you, Groves," she replied. "Go home, I'm not far behind." She let Ward sit across from her.

Captain Allister Ward and Narelle had been friends since she was a young officer in London. He had served in the Royal Navy when she was a Lieutenant and had watched over her for her father when he was still alive. He taught her the tricks to sailing, tips on how to command a battle on the water, even how to navigate with the stars when there was no map or compass. Most of the skills she picked up that concerned a ship were taught by him. After the death of King John, Allister had found himself unable to continue service in the Navy. He had injured his knee during a battle against a few pirate ships. While the rest of his crew came out relatively unscathed, the piece of wood that had embedded itself in Allister's knee had effectively ended his naval career. Thankfully dodging both amputation and infection, he was discharged with honor by the Crown. He still wanted to do something that involved a ship and he felt empty until he joined up with a merchant sailor who made regular runs from London to the British colonies in the Caribbean. He landed in Port Royal a few months later, loved the quiet life, and made more local trading runs between the small port, the islands nearby, and even to the northern part of Jamaica.

Ward didn't even realize the new Captain was Narelle until her identity was announced when she was assigned to the day rotation. He had heard a rumor that the princess had run away, but he never expected her to turn up here of all places. Port Royal was quiet enough to hide, sure, but the population seemed to grow rapidly here. Sooner or later, she would be discovered, and she'd either have to run again, or stand her ground. He wasn't surprised that she had ascended to Captain already. Allister thought she was a good leader, if blunt with her words sometimes.

His eyes crinkled when he smiled at her.

"Well girl," he said, his thick Scottish accent light with amusement. "What can I do for yah?"

"Ward, I'm going to come right out with it," she replied. "I need you to track the _Dauntless._ "

"Surely this isn't because o' yer flame, is it?"

"If you mean Commodore Norrington, you'd be right."

"Protective of 'im, are yeh?"

"Fairly. I know it's been a few weeks, but if he needs help, two ships are better than one."

"My Navy days are behind me, girl. I can't command troops to the degree that you can. Besides, my crew and I prefer to dodge a fight. My ship ain't built for offense, just defensive cannons to make hit and runs."

She sighed. "Fine, then can you at least go out there and see if she still floats?"

Ward leaned back in the chair. "I'm not a trooper anymore. I'll need compensation."

"What do you want?"

"My main mast needs some repairs. There's a nasty split at the base. Doubt she'd make the trip out an' back without snappin'."

"Done. Anything else?"

"Two thousand pounds."

"I'm assuming to divide amongst you and your crew for payment?"

"You'd be right." He crossed his arms with a smirk, thinking that she would refuse.

She didn't. "You've got yourself a deal."

His eyes widened. "That's a hefty price, Captain. This man o' yers worth it?"

"Would you agree if it was your lady, Allister?"

He thought a moment. "Aye, you'd be right. I'd sail around the world thrice to find her if she went missin'."

She smirked. "Your mast will be repaired on the morrow, but you won't be paid the pounds until you return. Fair?"

"Fair," he replied, shaking her outstretched hand.

 **Two Weeks Later**

"The ship has returned, Captain."

It was the only thing that Theodore said to her when he stuck his head into her office, but it was all she needed to immediately stop her work, grab her coat hanging draped around the back of her chair, snatch her hat from the corner of her desk, and sprint past him out the office door, down the halls of Fort Charles, and down the cobblestoned road of Port Royal to the docks. She donned the clothes she picked up as she ran. The townspeople that saw her coming instantly made a lane for her to run and even pulled people out of the way that couldn't see her. Theodore tried to keep up but was a few paces behind her. He was initially ten seconds behind her but realizing that she ran off he used his longer strides to catch up to her. Lieutenant Andrew Gillette saw his two friends run off through the fort and joined in the race. He wasn't sure why they were running, but he knew he'd find out if he caught up to at least Theodore.

She saw the ship she sent to find James already docked. Determined to find answers, she pushed herself faster. As she neared the dock she slowed to a trot, and eventually to a complete stop, her eyes locked on the crew and eventual captain of the ship. Her expression lightened when she saw Captain Ward come down the gangway.

Seeing his expression, however, her face fell. He approached her, his features solemn.

"Captain," he said slowly. His voice was thick with sorrow. "I found the _Dauntless._ "

"Where is she?" she asked, already having a feeling of the larger ship's fate.

Ward shook his head. "It's in pieces, m'lady. Completely gone. So is all but one of 'er crew. We found 'im unconscious driftin' on a door."

He pivoted so she could see past him, and she saw a man come to the top deck from below. The sight of a blue coat gave her hope.

"Be careful, m'lady," Ward said cautiously, catching Narelle's arm. "'E's been through a turn. Barely spoke a word the 'ole ride back. Kept to 'isself, mainly."

He descended the gangway, and she couldn't hide her smile any longer. She started towards him in a trot, but the pained look on James's face made her stop before she reached him. Her expression turned slowly from joy to concern as her eyebrows knitted together and her smile fell.

"I'm glad to see you, James," she said, worried.

"You may be the only one who will be," he replied quietly.

"That's not true," she countered. "Your friends are here, and they'll be glad to see you as well."

"I won't be staying long."

She winced, both in pain and confusion. He walked past her. She turned to see Theodore and Andrew's smiles also fall as James walked past him as well. Theodore's head whipped behind him to watch the older man start towards the governor's mansion. He looked back to her, alarmed and confused. Her face hardened to determination and indignation as she started after James, Theodore quickly following behind her.

James reached the mansion before them. The door slammed loudly behind him, stopping her, Theodore, and Andrew in their tracks at the gate of the property. She waited, leaning on a pillar, listening for any sign of an argument. There was none.

"Why didn't he embrace you?" Theodore asked quietly, confused. "What happened to him? Where's the _Dauntless_?"

"His ship is destroyed. He's the only survivor of his crew."

"What happened?" Andrew asked. "Does anyone know?"

She shook her head. "I don't know the details yet."

She heard a noise towards the mansion, and saw James descending the walkway. Governor Swann stood at the doorway.

"We can work this out, Commodore!" he yelled.

James, however, kept walking, his expression stoic. The gate opened, and he walked past the three officers again. Narelle recovered faster than the first time and kept pace with him. Theodore and Andrew hung back a few seconds

"Talk to me," she pleaded. "What happened?"

When he didn't answer right away, she grabbed his arm and wrenched him around to face her, pulling them to a stop in the middle of the road.

"Don't just walk away from me!" she yelled, tears in her eyes. "What happened?!"

"I killed them," he replied simply. His eyes fell to the street, and he hung his head slightly. His voice fell to barely above a whisper. "I made a mistake, and it got my crew killed."

"Mistakes happen, James. That's why we're humans, and not something man-made to be perfect."

"The mistakes we make end up costing our subordinates their lives! They trust us to take care of them, and I failed them!"

"You did your best!"

"You don't know what I've done!" he yelled, his eyes snapping back to hers in fire. "I sailed into a hurricane to catch Sparrow. It cost me my ship, my crew, and now my commission!"

Narelle was taken aback; her jaw fell open slightly. She felt her eyes water, and her throat felt thick. Trying to will her hurt expression away, she swallowed.

"You've resigned."

"I don't deserve my rank anymore," he replied. His head fell slightly. "I don't deserve the life I have."

"You have survivor's guilt," she said, growing desperate. "It's something we can work out, James. It will get better. You have your friends, and you have me. I promise you, James, it will get better with time."

"It won't."

The finality of his statement sent the tears in her eyes down her cheeks. Her grip on his arm tightened.

"I'm not letting you go," she said thickly.

"You must," he replied quietly. "I need this."

"You need us!" she said loudly. "Me. Theodore. Andrew. You need us! We can help you!"

"Let me do this."

She shook her head, tears falling faster.

"I can't."

He pulled his arm free with his other hand from her grip.

"You don't deserve someone without honor," he said. "Let me prove it to you by getting it back."

"Your honor never left, James! You cast it away because of a storm!"

"Let me do this," he repeated.

She let out a sob, sniffed quickly.

"Please don't leave," she whispered pleadingly.

"I will always love you," he replied thickly. She saw tears form in the corners of his emerald green eyes. He let go of her and turned away. It was only then that he let his own anguish forth, which only intensified with each step away from her. He willed the tears away for a moment.

"I will always love you too, James Norrington," he heard her whisper after him.

He couldn't stop the tears this time, but he kept walking. He was doing this for her, he kept telling himself. He was going to find something worthy of winning his honor back. He had to.

For her.

 **I'll be honest, the scene where James left was hard to write. Not that it was actually hard, but to get the tone right, I had to listen to a lot of depressing music to try and get the emotions I wanted. Please, please, please let me know what you think. I also wanted to clarify that while it doesn't follow the exact timeline of the movies, I wanted to get some set up done for the second film before I get into it. I'm fairly sure we'll get into it before long, but I want to develop this a little more before we really get to the adventure. Also, I'm sorry for the double author's notes before and after the chapter, but I like to communicate with you, my lovely readers, because I love you. :) Thank you again for reading!**


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